


Pile the Bodies High

by jesm



Series: Pile the Bodies High [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesm/pseuds/jesm
Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes is a story teller. In 1943 he shipped off to war, leaving his best friend and unrequited love of his life behind in Brooklyn. A few months later, after his whole unit was killed or captured, Bucky found himself part of a story that included superweapons, supervillains and superheroes, the latter of which happened to be the best friend he left behind.Aka: the events of CA:tFA from Bucky’s POV
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/OMC, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Pile the Bodies High [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092812
Kudos: 5





	1. Tell a Story For You

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from Grass by Carl Sandburg. 
> 
> Inspired in part by a lot of Stucky 2020 quarantine reading and rereading, not least of which was probably the Not Easily Conquered series by dropdeaddream & WhatAreFears.

_If it weren’t for the bad lungs, you’d be great at Basic. With your I-could-do-this-all-day, idiotic stubbornness. Though you’d have to listen to orders, too, which you ain’t never been good at._

_Me, I’m looking forward to getting back to Brooklyn for a bit. Don’t suppose anything much has changed, though. I’ll be in time for that grand expo. We can go dancing, get in a few alley scrapes for old time’s sake. It’ll be fun._

_You know that Fall when Fannie and little Ruth were both sick, and my ma had her hands full with ‘em, so I spent all my time over at your place and didn’t take long before I was driving your mama up the wall too? So this one day, I remember, she’d ‘bout had enough and she puts one of your sketchbooks in my hands and tells me to go sit down with it and stay out of her hair until super or she’d smack me upside the head with it. And I’m not fond of drawing like you, frustrates me crazy, which I tell her. “You like telling tall tales, Bucky Barnes,” she says to me. “Go write ‘em down. Can’t be that hard, smart boy like you.” And you ma always knew I’m a sucker for challenge and flattery both, so I went and did what she said. You were already sitting at the window sketching, so I sat with you and wrote these little stories for all the folks we could watch out the window or hear through the walls. Spun ‘em up into a grand yarn of the neighborhood that Fall._

_And your ma was right. I do like telling stories and I haven’t stopped since. I don’t rightly know when I started telling them for you. You never read them, though I told you you could. Do you feel like you’d be prying? Or are you just not curious? Do you not want to know?_

_I see everything you draw. You said I could look and I’m willing to pry. And here’s a fact—I love who I am in your eyes. But I worry about who_ you _are in them. I could tell a story for you and maybe you’d love who you are in my eyes._

* * *

**Brooklyn—June 1943**

“I got you something.” Steve jumped and swore, because he hadn’t noticed the door and Bucky had startled him into smearing a fat line across the page. 

“Jerk,” Steve said. He rolled his bony shoulders as he straightened from where’d he’d been hunched over his work.

“But I got you something,” Bucky flashed Steve the most disarming grin in his arsenal, even though Steve was mostly immune. “And I’ve been away for weeks and weeks. That’s no way to welcome me home.”

“I’ve been working on that for an hour and was going to make seventy-five cents a picture. I was almost done.” Despite his frustrated tone, Steve shot Bucky a smile that lit his whole face. “Now what did you get me, you big jerk?”

Bucky reached into his jacket and brandished the case of pencils he’d picked up on his way home from the train station—the kind he knew Steve preferred but thought were too expensive. Steve’s blue eyes went wide when he recognized them and he opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off. “I’m a big shot now, Steve. Sergeant in the US Army. I can afford a few pencils without us starving or missing rent. And you’re going to need some way to make a living while I’m away.” 

He tossed the case to Steve, who caught it easily, because despite being small and often sickly, his hands were quick and coordinated, and people always underestimated that about him. Though folks underestimated most things about Steve, in Bucky’s opinion. Steve set the case on top of his sketchpad and his hopefully-not-actually-ruined work in progress—army pay or no, seventy-five cents was seventy-five cents. 

Steve crossed the room and reached up to throw both arms around Bucky’s neck in a full body hug. Tension Bucky hadn’t even been aware of holding melted from his chest and shoulders. He wrapped his arms around Steve in return, easily circling his thin frame. He could feel strength in him, though, which was a relief after weeks away. He knew Steve was more than capable of taking care of himself and he knew he worried about him more then Steve himself would approve of if he knew, but he’d never been able to help it. 

“Welcome home, Bucky.” Steve said and stepped back. He didn’t remark on the fact that he had to practically peel Bucky’s arms apart to get out of the hug. “Big shot Sergeant, huh. Who’s daft idea was it to make you an officer?” 

“That’s the army for you, Steve. One daft idea after another.” 

“Well, you look the part at least, sharp and pretty. Everyone will swoon.” 

Bucky dropped onto their threadbare couch and propped his feet up, getting the expected eye roll from Steve. 

“At least when you’re not getting muck on our furniture, that is.” Steve said. 

He pushed Bucky’s legs away and sat down next to him. It wasn’t a big couch, but it certainly didn’t require that they sit side by side with shoulders and knees touching. Bucky wondered if Steve could have possibly missed him as much as the other way around, but Steve had had all the comfort and familiarity of Brooklyn to keep him company while Bucky had been tossed alone into the strange foreignness of the US Army. 

“Missed you. It’s good to have you home, even just for a bit.” Steve said as if he could read Bucky’s mind; Bucky wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Good to be home, too.” 

“See your sisters yet?”

“Nah, I’m thinking Sunday morning. You could come to mass with us?” Steve shook his head, which was as Bucky expected; he’d stopped after his ma got sick. “Alright. We can meet up after, check out the expo. I bet I can get us dates.”

“Sure, sounds fun, Bucky.” There was nothing in Steve’s tone that was excited about the prospect of the expo or the dates, but he rarely said no to Bucky’s schemes, unless they were truly hairbrained. 

They spent the rest of the day knocking about the apartment. Bucky watched Steve finish the rest his drawings and wished he had the same skill and patience. He’d do a portrait of the scene to take with him, Steve perched at the old table by the window, where they got good afternoon light. The sunlight was why they’d picked this place, expensive as it was. Now it shone in Steve’s blonde hair and cast the features of his face into planes of light and shadow.

Sunday came too soon, as such things tended to. Ruth tucked her arm in his as they walked down the church steps. Ahead of them, their youngest nephew was sobbing into Rebecca’s shoulder and Fannie propelled the other two with promises of sweet buns when they got home, the same tactic their ma had always used when they were being particularly unruly on a Sunday morning. With her other hand, Ruth undid the pins holding her hair up and let her braid drop over her shoulder. She twisted it around her finger as she gave him a side-eyed stare. 

When her gaze worked its way hot and prickly under his skin, he poked her in the ribs with his elbow. She yelped louder than the gentle poke warranted and stuck her tongue out at him, which earned them both an admonishing look from Mrs. Lynch as she passed.

“You deserved it. Staring’s very impolite.” Bucky said.

Ruth laughed and then her face turned serious. She looked eerily like their mother when she stared at him as if she was trying to pull all his secrets out through his pores. And if anyone could, it would be her.

“How’s Stevie?” She asked eventually. “He came over for dinner a couple week’s back, but even Becca’s wheedling couldn’t get him to stay long. She sent him home with enough leftovers to feed him for a week, though.”

“You don’t actually call him that where he can hear you, right? He’s too much a gentleman to actually kill you, but he hates that.”

Ruth snorted. “Of course not.” Her smile turned sly. “Only you can get away with that.” 

“He’s alright. Been getting a lot of commissions, it sounds like, and we’re going dancing tonight.”

“You’re a terrible brother, going off to war without ever taking me out dancing.” Ruth sighed and pouted dramatically.

“I’d be a terrible brother taking my little sister out dancing.” 

The conversation trailed off. He studied her face. Unlike Rebecca’s and Fannie’s little ones, who had seemed to change weekly even while he was around more, Ruth hadn’t really changed any while he’d been away. In fact, of the two of them, he was the one who had shorter hair and new muscle. However, there was a hint of fear in the sharp, determined line of her jaw and a little too much moisture in her eyes. 

It hit him suddenly that he didn’t want to remember her like this, with fear and worry for him hidden on her face. With a grin that was almost genuine, he used her hand on his arm to spin her in a quick circle. She yelped, real this time, then caught the hand he offered. This time he spun them both, forcing the flow of after church traffic to break around them. Rebecca tossed them a look over her shoulder that was both rolled eyes and charmed smile. He turned the spin into a proper dance step that carried them down the sidewalk after their sisters. Ruth threw her head back and laughed.

After he left his sisters’ place, Bucky eventually found Steve getting punched in an alley near the theater, which was not unusual. The other guy scattered fast when Bucky stepped in—also not unusual, especially since he’d put on more muscle in basic training and was in uniform, which most people respected at least a little these days. 

Bucky picked up the enlistment form Steve had dropped in the fight while Steve got back to his feet and fixed his jacket. He handed the papers back, giving Steve an obligatory hard time about the whole thing when he did, especially the part about being from New Jersey. Seriously, _Jersey_. He wished Steve would stop trying to enlist, but he also expected it would take actual MPs showing up for that to happen, as Steve was the most stubborn person he knew. When they’d first gone to enlist, it had seemed like a grand adventure for the two of them, but the closer he got to actually leaving, the happier he was that Steve wasn’t.

Steve must have caught something telling on his face because he asked, “You get your orders?”

“Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

“I should be going.” Steve’s tone was thick with frustration when he said it and he shoved the enlistment forms into his coat pocket too roughly.

Bucky wanted, more than anything, for Steve to be happy, so he felt for how frustrated Steve was about being unable to enlist. However, there was a selfish part of him that was glad. Bucky wasn’t afraid of going to war himself. Sure, ostensibly he knew he _could_ die, but it didn’t feel like he would. It wasn’t even that he thought Steve any less capable. Bucky was pretty sure Steve could surprise anyone, even the US Army, if ever given a chance, but, of the two of them, he figured Steve would do a better job of living on without him than the other way around. So he was afraid of Steve dying and that meant being greatful Steve was being kept out of the war, even if he hated it. 

Bucky offered a smile and slung his arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Come on, it’s my last night. Gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why, where’re we going?” Suspicion replaced Steve’s frustration and Bucky was stung Steve didn’t have more faith in him this long into their friendship. Or perhaps it was because they’d been friends for so long that Steve knew to be wary of Bucky planning a night on the town, same way Bucky was always wary of Steve jumping into a righteous fight. 

“The future!” Bucky answered, just to annoy him.

Steve was clearly resigned when he saw the girls Bucky had charmed into a night out, and it took him less than ten minuets to duck away, which was a new record. Bucky tracked Steve down again at the recruitment center. It was even easier than tracking him down in an alley, getting punched, but Bucky was exasperated now, more so when Steve waved off the dancing double date. He’d had plans for his last night, and he wanted Steve to be part of them. So he let more of his anger into his voice than he normally would have, until the two of them were near to shouting at each other.

“Bucky, come on!” Steve said and sounded a little hurt. “There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.” 

_Uncompromising, self-righteous punk._ Bucky clenched his jaw and could feel his teeth grind before he managed to relax the muscles. He voice was still tight when he replied.

“Right, ‘cause you got nothing to prove.” 

Steve didn’t back down. Bucky hadn’t thought he would, so they stared at each other, tension thick in the air between them, until Bucky’s date called for him. Bucky turned back to smile at the girls, but he didn’t want to leave things that way with Steve. 

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” Bucky said.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve quipped back and damn but Bucky was going to miss him.

“You’re a punk.” 

“Jerk. Be careful.”

He gave Steve a hug but kept it quick. If he gave Steve the hug he really wanted to, people would stare. 

“Don’t win the war till I get there!” Steve called as Bucky walked away and Bucky saluted him before joining the girls. 

He went dancing. Bucky’d danced with his date, Connie, before. She was good on her feet, lively and graceful, which was why Bucky had asked her in the first place. There was little else Bucky loved as much as dancing and a good, enthusiastic partner was key. He traded off dances with both girls until Connie’s friend caught the attention of a handsome sailor in crisp navy white and went off with a smile and a friendly wave. 

The crowd in the dance hall thinned as the night wore on and the band started to pepper in more and more slow songs. Connie shifted her hand to gently scratch patterns on the back of his neck that sent shivers through his body and didn’t discourage him when he moved his hand low on her back, until they were clinging a little too close and swaying slowly as much as dancing. They kissed, mouths hot and open and hungry, and she stood on her toes to whisper with her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Walk me home, Bucky. I’ll give you a real proper send off.” 

Bucky kissed her again and the slick slide of her lips against thrummed through his blood like electricity, but something was tight and hard in his chest. He felt off beat, like a missed step in a dance, and he pulled away. She saw it on his face right away, and her smile turned sad even while her eyes stayed warm.

“'Course I’ll walk you home, but I can’t come in. Damn did I have a good time tonight, though. I’ll miss dancing with you.” 

“I’ll miss dancing with you too, Bucky. No one else here’s near as much fun.” 

They smiled and danced a few more songs, then Bucky walked her home. She hugged him tight at her doorstep and pressed one more sweet kiss to his lips before she stepped away. Bucky shoved his hands deep in his pockets, unpleasantly cool without her warmth pressed alongside him, and headed back home.

“Fancy a smoke?”

Bucky startled at the voice and stopped in his tracks. A man leaning against the railing outside the dancehall was holding out a pack and smiling. He looked familiar, someone Bucky was sure he’d seen around before, and there was a lieutenant’s insignia on his Army uniform. Bucky took the offered cigarette. The dancehall had mostly emptied and the street was fairly quite too. 

“Thanks, sir.” 

“You didn’t stay with her? Why?” Bucky glanced curiously at the man. He wasn’t so surprised his exchange with Connie had been overheard, but this fellow was striking up a conversation with him for something. 

“Wasn’t feeling it.” Bucky said.

The man directed a soft, easy grin Bucky’s way and held out a lighter. Bucky stepped in to accept the lite and didn’t step back. 

“That so. Well, I’ve got a room ‘round the corner, if you’re feeling something else, Sergeant.” 

Bucky half choked on the first drag of his cigarette. He wondered briefly if it was some sort of set-up, but there was genuine heat in the lieutenant’s voice and it kindled the same warmth in Bucky’s gut. 

The lieutenant looked a few years older than Bucky himself, and he was handsome enough, with curly dark hair and a square jaw, though his nose was a bit too small for the rest of his face, with a crook likely from being broken sometime in the past. His body was a lean sort of muscular. Beyond the crooked nose, there was an old scar on his jaw and scabs on his knuckles. He looked quick and a little rough, which Bucky liked. 

Bucky considered the offer, but he still felt a little wrong-footed, like he had with Connie, so he sighed and stepped back, feeling a small pang of regret and a lot more relief. 

“Another time, another night?” Bucky said. “Truly.” 

The lieutenant’s smile slipped a little but didn’t vanish. He nodded once. “Ah well, I had to ask or I would have regretted it. Last night and all.”

Bucky smiled back. “Maybe another night on another continent, then. Last night and all.” 

The lieutenant laughed, and that was a sound, warm and thick, that went straight to Bucky’s groin. He took another step away before he changed his mind. 

“Enjoy your night, sir.” 

“And you yours, Sergeant.” He had to concentrate on not looking back as he walked away. 

Bucky had planned on the liaison with Connie, rather than a last night at home. Steve was asleep already when Bucky got back to the apartment and, because he was shockingly lazy sometimes, he hadn’t bothered with the Murphy bed. Instead, he was curled up on the couch under a pile of their mas’ old quilts. 

Bucky stripped out of his uniform and folded it over a chair for tomorrow. He could navigate the apartment easily enough without turning on the light, but despite his best efforts he couldn’t keep the bed from squeaking when he pulled it down. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked drowsily.

“Sorry, Stevie, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Don’t call me Stevie.” He mumbled and blinked at Bucky. “Didn’t think you’d be home. Strike out?” 

Bucky shrugged, noncommittally. “You? I’ll take it as a good sign you haven’t been arrested yet.” 

Steve shrugged too and got up to help. There was an odd tension in the air between them that Bucky chalked up to his own jitters before shipping out.

Steve’s eyes closed again immediately after they climbed into bed. Bucky took his hands, always cold, and held them between his chest and his own palms to warm them. 

“‘m g’na follow you, ya know.” Steve mumbled into his pillow. 

“I know.” Bucky said. “Steve?” 

Steve mumbled something to show he was listening. Bucky paused, not sure what he’d really wanted to say, but that off-beat pressure in his chest demanded something of him. 

“I love you.” It was really the only thing that mattered before going to war.

Steve’s eyes flicked open, dark in the dim light. His fingers twitched against Bucky’s. "Stay alive until I get there.” 

Bucky closed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll try.” 

The mattress shifted and squeaked. “I love you too.” 

Bucky could feel Steve’s warm breath on his forehead and then the soft brush of his lips in a quick kiss against his temple.


	2. Meant To Share a Foxholw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is deployed to northern Italy with the 107th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains brief, non-graphic mentions of torture

_I’m better at this thing than I thought I would be. Doesn’t mean I like it, but I’m a good shot and a decent NCO I think, and end of the day it’s a job that needs doing._

_I try not to think of home much. That’s just asking for trouble. But I can’t not think of you, so I imagine, what if you were here too, like you wanted?_

_It’s an adventure. We ship out giddy with excitement, you trying to hide it and me not giving a damn as usual. ‘Course, that doesn’t take long to wear off and the truth is war’s mostly misery—boredom mixed with moments of absolute terror. You sketch every place we go, though after awhile the hills and ruined Italian villages all start to look alike. And for the other fellas, you practice your figure drawing—pin-up girls and movie-stars. Makes you popular. I make up stories to go with your sketches and keep up both entertained through cold, rainy nights in the mud. And for the firefights, well, we watch each other’s backs there too, like we always have._

W _hich I guess is my way of saying I miss you. I know it’s strange to say I wish you were here—probably no one should be here—but the truth is I do. There are a lot of good lads here. You’d like most of them and you know me, I’ve made friends. But we were meant to share a foxhole, you and me._

* * *

**European Front, Northern Italy - Fall 1943**

The 107th was deployed to Northern Italy. It was a place of green farmlands and greener hills, the Alps towering in the distance like nothing Bucky had ever seen. He whished Steve was there, to see what his artist’s eye could make of the astounding landscapes and the old villages they passed through. And he wished there wasn’t a war on so Steve could be there with him. They’d talked occasionally about traveling together, Bucky spinning adventures for the two of them based on nothing but a glimpse of someplace exotic in some magazine he couldn’t afford but they had always been nothing but pipedreams meant to get them through bad times when Steve was too sick to get out of bed.

Beyond the breathtaking scenery, the experience of being in the infantry in the middle of an epic war was relatively straightforward. They marched, dug in, moved out, swept forests and hillsides and villages for the enemy, and repeated as ordered. It was at turns incredibly boring, when they all kept each other entertained as best as they could with games and chatter, and absolutely terrifying and heartbreaking. Barely two months in, Bucky found himself picking the blood of a fellow Sergeant out from under his fingernails and whishing for it all to be over with a vehemence that took his breath. 

They were rotated off the front lines after that battle; not all the way off to Venice or some place nice like that, but far enough they were no longer directly in the path of bullets and bombs and there was a taste of civilization.

Everything in the little village was marked by the war already, including the bar. Bucky picked at bullet holes in the soft brick while he waited for an opening to squeeze inside. Across the road chunks of a gothic spire littered the cobblestones in front of a church. 

Noise, almost as intense as an artillery barrage, hit him when he finally made it inside. The smell of sweat was infinitely more pleasant when paired with beer rather than blood and Bucky smiled, taking a big breath of it. 

“Fancy a drink?” It took Bucky a moment to place the vaguely familiar voice and the curly hair to a different night in front of the dancehall in Brooklyn. It felt like that encounter was years and worlds away, rather than mere months and an ocean. Now, the Lieutenant sat with two others in a bar in Italy, giving Bucky the same flirtatious smile he had before.

“Thanks, sir.” 

“Now, we don’t normally drink with Sergeants, but us New Yorkers got’a stick together.” The Lieutenant nodded to include the small, red-haired man on his right, who kicked out a chair for Bucky.

“And I don’t normally drink with New Yorkers, but if you don’t take the chair, Lieutenant Brooks will,” the last man said with a theatrical shudder and a gesture over towards the crowd by the door. 

Bucky took the chair and the glass of beer that seemed to come with it. The table was small enough their knees all knocked together when he scooted the chair in.

“Sami Bell, Queens.” Bucky’s flirtatious lieutenant introduced himself then nodded to his red-headed friend. “John Merritt—Jax—from Manhattan. Jax and I are Battalion HQ. And Hollywood here’s from, well, I guess that’s obvious.” 

“Santa Barbara, actually. Not that you New Yorker’s could be bothered to tell Los Angeles from Seattle.” 

“Seattle. That’s the one down south near Mexico, right?” Bucky said, rewarded with laughs and grins around the table. “James Barnes. Bucky. Brooklyn. 107th.” 

“Yeah, Able Company, right?” Hollywood said with a movie star grade smile. “George Moore. Ivan Company, 107th. But you might as well call me Hollywood like everyone else.”

They fell into easy, relaxed conversation, passing around jokes and the pitcher of beer. Bell rested a hand on Bucky’s knee under the table, then slid it up, drawing distracting and aimless patterns on the inside of his thigh.

On their third round of drinks, Bell drained his glass with his head tipped back. Bucky admired the strong line of his throat as he swallowed. 

“Well fellas, I’ve got reports to file still. Catch up with you boys later.” He said, giving Bucky’s leg a firm squeeze before standing up. 

Bucky finished his drink and excused himself as well. As he had hoped, Bell was waiting among the chunks of stone and plaster around the ruined church. He ground out his cigarette as Bucky crossed the street.

“You know, I know someone like you. Does whatever he wants, no matter what people say.” Bucky said.

“Nah, I’m a cautious fella. I just know where I’m safe. And what I like.” He flashed Bucky a bright grin. “Jax and Hollywood, they aren’t like us, but they don’t care none either.”

“Alright,” Bucky grinned back, “where’s safe?”

Bell smiled. “Well, if that’s the way of it, I’ll show you. Come along, Sargent.”

They walked casually around the back of the church where thick trees and sharp hills cast deep shadows across the ground and up the church wall. Raucous sounds from the street still reached them, but the space had an intimate feel besides.

Bucky chuckled. “Wow, you really do have this all worked out. How’d you even find this?” 

“You want to wait until we have weekend passes to Rome, I’ll treat you to wine and room service in a fancy hotel.” 

“Nah, I’m in. Don’t need to be wooed.” 

Turned out, Bell was as quick and strong as he looked and Bucky’s back hit the church wall before he finished speaking. Bucky was half expecting to be jumped and mauled that instant, but instead Bell pressed on hand to the center of his chest to hold him there and stepped back little to examine Bucky, his gaze hungry.

Bucky gave Bell a beat, but patience had never been one of his virtues. “Come on, sir. You got me here, now you going to do something about it? If you want me to pose for a painting, I charge commission.” 

He got a thigh pressed very firmly against his groin in response to his smart mouth and he grunted but his eyes fluttered closed of their own accord at the pressure. 

“That painting idea isn’t a bad one, Barnes, but I take my time with art like you.” Bell’s voice was low and syrupy, but he held his distance. Those two points, his palm on Bucky’s chest and his thigh between Bucky’s legs were a tease that wound Bucky up tight. Bucky knocked his head back against the wall in frustration and Bell chuckled, light and soft. 

Bucky felt more intoxicated than his three beers warranted and certainly more turned on than expected for his current situation. It hadn’t even been that long—he’d had a couple fun nights with a girl in town near the base on weekend passes during Basic. But he liked Bell’s rough teasing approach and his body responded. He basked in the sensations and it took him longer than usual to pry his eyes open. When he managed, he discovered Bell had finally moved in closer, his face inches from Bucky’s, checks flushed and pupils wide. Bucky grinned then lunged forward against Bell’s hand, catching his swear with a kiss.

Bell kissed back hard, tugging on Bucky’s bottom lip with his teeth and then licking his tongue into Bucky’s eager mouth. As he kissed him fierce and desperate, Bell slipped his hands up under Bucky’s shirt to stroke his stomach with lightly teasing fingers. The mix of sensations, wild kisses and gentle caresses, made Bucky’s head spin, but it was a challenge he could match. He worked his hands into Bell’s shirt to ghost his fingers over the strong muscles of his back and punctuated it with equally slow rolls of his hips.

They worked each other up into a fever like that and in the end, jerked each other off the same way, a contest of rough pressure and teasing touches and well-matched dry humor.

They collected themselves and Bell rolled away from Bucky to lean against the church wall at his side, just close enough for their shoulders to still touch. Bell fished a lighter and cigarette out of his jacket pocket and took a long drag.

“I wouldn’t have minded doing that months ago. Complete with a room and a bed, I might add.” Bell said and passed the cigarette to Bucky.

“Nor me. Had something I had to do at home, though.” 

“You have someone back there?” Bell asked.

“No. Not this kind of someone, at least.” Bucky said.

“But some kind of someone?”

Bucky shrugged and passed the cigarette back. “Yeah, best pal. We’ve been close since we were kids, almost inseparable for two decades, until all this.” He waved his hand behind him to take in the ruined church and the town and the war beyond.

Bell’s gaze was sharp. “Just pals?”

There was no humor in Bucky’s laugh. “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind but he’s not interested—destined for bigger and better things than me. How ‘bout you?”

“Not anymore. We were together at university, until ‘41. We’d both enlisted before Christmas. He went for the Navy and went down somewhere in the Pacific last January.” 

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

“He had dark hair and blue eyes and a wicked smile.” Bell’s gaze raked Bucky up and down and the comparison went unspoken. 

They finished the cigarette, passing it between them in companionable silence as the sky burned orange above the trees. Bell pulled away from the wall and pressed a last kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

“Another time, another night?” He said, echoing Bucky’s words from before.

“Another time, another night,” Bucky said and let a sliver of heat slip into his voice like a promise. He hoped it was a promise they’d get to keep as he watched Bell walk away without another word.

The Italian town of Azzano looked charming and relatively unscathed by the war so far, though Bucky doubted that would last long once the 107th moved into the hills outside of town. They had orders to dig in outside of town then move in and take the town itself. The Wehrmacht had mostly pulled out of the town ahead of 107th, so the firefight to take Azzano was light. 

A moment later shouting and the _pop_ of a sniper rifle tripped over each other. Bucky threw himself flat against the nearest wall. He surveyed the plaza—two sprawled bodies among the soldiers scrambling for cover—and the buildings around it. There were two buildings, a steepled church and an apartment building, that looked to Bucky like good candidates for a sniper’s perch, but he couldn’t see the sniper himself.

“Sarge?” Corporal Webb asked, crouched along the wall beside Bucky.

“Nothing.” 

Another shot rang across the plaza and Bucky caught movement in an apartment window. Third floor, second in from the corner.

“Got it.” Bucky said and raised his rifle. 

Corporal Webb looked over his shoulder at him with a grimace. “Just don’t miss, Sarge.” He said.

Bucky nodded then concentrated on the window. Webb took a deep breath and darted across the exposed plaza, drawing the snipers fire. Bucky squeezed the trigger of his rifle. It was over as abruptly as it had started and they got back to the task of securing the town.

They found handfuls of civilians holed up in basements and cellars but had no further run-ins with the Wehrmacht. Ivan company stayed to hold the town while the rest of them pulled back to their previous dug-in positions and waited for the next round of orders.

Bucky jerked awake to the sounds of explosions and combat, close but not right on his position. The kid in the foxhole with him looked at him wide eyes, the whites bright in the faint dawn light. 

“Breathe,” Bucky said and gave the kid’s shoulder a firm squeeze. 

There was a hint of orange over in the direction of Azzano and smoke curled up into the gray sky. Bucky sighted his rifle over the edge of the foxhole, watching and waiting, with deep breaths and a quick prayer. Along the line, others were doing the same, rifles at the ready. Then a tank, at least twice the usual size, crested the hill in front of them and it didn’t matter.

Bucky tore at one of the blisters on his palm, and wasn’t that novel, because he’d done labor since before he’d finished school and the army these last two years—he’d never had soft hands, but this was hard labor in a way he hadn’t even known existed. They were marched out of their cells before full light and back long after dark, and they were fed on less than Bucky had managed in the worst of the Depression. The equipment was rough and loud and sharp-edged, while the pace set by their overseers was careless and brutal. The Germans didn’t seem to care when one of them dropped from exhaustion, or starvation, or a limb caught in the machinery. The bodies were simply carted off to into the back warrens of the factory, and every few days a living man was selected from the cells to join them. 

They took Hollywood on the third day. On the seventh, they came for the radio operator from Charlie company who’s name Bucky had never learned. On the ninth, it was one of the Brits who was captured before the 107th. After that, Bucky stopped counting the days and stopped making eye contact with any of the men they dragged off.

When they came for him, he was almost too tired to stand, much less put up a fight, even a cursory one. He wondered if his sisters had already gotten a letter from the Army and what they’d been told. Probably nothing much except he was MIA. He wondered how long it would be before they stopped hoping, accepting he was really dead. He knew his sisters would tell Steve as soon as they heard. He could picture Ruth walking up the stairs to his and Steve’s apartment—just Steve’s now—in her yellow Sunday dress, with her black hair pinned up tidy in braids, and clutching the Army letter in her strong hands. 

He couldn’t picture Steve getting the news. His heart stuttered and his mind just gave up at the prospect. The reverse would break him, he thought, but Steve was resilient, always had been. He’d survive. Bucky hoped he wouldn’t think it was his fault, but Steve had always carried the world on his shoulders, so he would probably carry this as well. 

The last thing Bucky hoped was that his death would be quick, but from the look of the dingy room, with its sturdy metal table, and the fidgety little man overseeing it, he didn’t think it would be.

The fidgety little man stared down at him and placed a clammy hand on his forearm. There was a pinprick flash of pain. His body went cold from the inside out and —

Bucky’s spinning through a crowded dance hall. There’s a warm press of bodies all around him, chaotic and graceful. Silver streamers hang from the ceiling, catching the lights like icicles. The band’s playing something brassy and exuberant, but Bucky can’t quite place the tune. There’s a girl in his arms. The fabric of her dress is soft under his palm and her hand’s a little warm, a little damp, in his. They swing apart and she laughs, high and bright, as he spins her back in. He can’t make out the features of her face, even as he smiles down at her. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. 

—his body jerked against the straps, hard enough to cut and bruise. The fidgety little man leaned over him, prodding with sharp fingers and peering at Bucky in a way that made his stomach twist. When he was done he gestured dismissively and two guards hauled Bucky off the table. They didn’t take him back to the prisoners’ cells—no one ever came back—and instead tossed him into a dark, windowless box, where he crumpled against the wall and closed his eyes.

Someone grabbed his arm and twisted. There was a cold, sharp pain and pressure. His muscles felt cool and liquid, his skin hard and brittle, like the first layer of ice over a puddle. He feared he would shatter like ice too, shivering and breaking apart until—

Bucky’s dancing with Ruth, sunlight sparkling in the air around them in golden snowflakes. Ruth’s yellow dress swirls against their legs as he spins them in tight circles. She says his name, breathless and giggling so it’s barely a word, but he knows it means faster. There are people-shaped shadows around them, vague and distant and unimportant. The world is him and Ruth, twirling through pools of light. She grins up at him, her face too round, a gap in her smile where she just lost her baby teeth. He blinks, dizzy. She looks like their mother, sharp chin and cheekbones but with her own wild, fearless smile.

—everything hurt. His muscles pulled taught enough he wondered if they could snap. His skin felt raw and inside out, the nerves exposed. Even his throat ached, torn raw from his own screams. German voices floated in and out of his awareness. The guards’ grips on his arms were crushing and rough when they dragged him off the table, but he couldn’t stand on his own anyway.

He recognized the feeling of uncaring hands on his arms now and the accompanying jab of the needle. The sensations that followed always changed a little, except for the constant of pain that tore through him, pulled him into its infinite depths, and tossed him out into—

Bucky’s grinning down at Steve. The apartment’s cozy-warm, with the radiator clanging and sunlight slicing through the frosted windows. Steve’s hand is hot and he comes easily when Bucky tugs, despite his mulish glare. Bucky draws him close, presses a palm to his lower back and whispers in his ear, feeling flushed and a little reckless. He rocks back on his left foot and Steve follows with his right. Steve’s glare slips and turns into a small smile as they dance. The song crackling through the radio is too lively, a song for swinging and jumping, not a song for holding, but Bucky doesn’t want to let go. It’s so easy, the pair of them moving together through their little apartment. Bucky wants, always wants more, but he’ll take this and keep it tucked away in the selfish dark hallows of his heart. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky felt hands brush his arm and tried to move away. He didn’t want to be touched. Touch brought pain, but something else pulled at him too, something about that voice, and he forced his eyes to open and focus. 

Steve was there, which wasn’t right—Steve was in Brooklyn. Bucky maybe said something, he wasn’t sure what. He felt his lips move and his throat work, but he hadn’t been in control of his body or mind in so long he didn’t remember how they were supposed to work together.

“It’s me. It’s Steve.” Steve towered over him, which was strange but maybe fine—Bucky felt small, like he was missing pieces.

“Steve?” There, that was how speech worked and Steve had released the straps, so maybe Bucky could figure out how to sit up too.

“Come on,” Steve pulled him up and Bucky tensed, but Steve’s hold was gentle and familiar so he went.

“Steve.” Bucky struggled to keep standing on legs that felt shaky and further away than usual. 

Steve steadied him and cupped his face for a second. “I thought you were dead.” 

Standing up and thinking a little more clearly, there was absolutely no mistaking that Steve was not the same as when Bucky had left him in Brooklyn, but Bucky was also absolutely sure he was still Steve. 

“I thought you were smaller.”

There was a sharp clang and Bucky registered the sounds of fighting for the first time. Steve glanced around. “Come on,” he said again and half led, half carried Bucky out of the room he’d been sure he was going to die in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a bunch of trouble, but the next is almost done so planning to post mid-week.


	3. If I Asked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Howling Commandos are formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note TWs, this chapter includes aftermath of and reference to torture.

_I should have known you’d do something stupid. I did know. But I thought it’d be something like bluffing you’re from Ohio and getting arrested, not volunteering to be a medical experiment. You got what you wanted, though, you stubborn punk. Exactly what you wanted._

_I’ve been thinking about our first day after we moved into the apartment. I wanted us to go out dancing to celebrate, but you said I should go alone ‘cause you weren’t any good at dancing. So I made you dance with me, all around the apartment, like I used to when we were kids and I was practicing. You complained the whole time, but you were smiling._

_That night, I did go out dancing and you stayed. I let you because I knew it’s what you wanted. But the truth is, dancing with you, that’s what I wanted._

_So here’s a story for me, about our life if I had asked for what I’d wanted and you had said yes. We have our first kiss that day, while we’re dancing. I hold you close and tell you stories about all the things we’re gonna do together. You laugh and call me a romantic fool, but you’re smiling. That evening we stay in together and kiss some more. Bedtime’s awkward, because we hadn’t planned on this when we picked the place with the one Murphy bed and the good sunlight, so I take the couch and we laugh at each other and ourselves when we say goodnight._

_You wake me up later in the night, sliding your cold hands under my shirt. And you climb onto the couch with me and kiss me deep, because once you put your mind to something nothing stops you. You say we might was well get on with things, get the awkward over with now. So we end the first day in our apartment making love on the couch. It’s still awkward and too quick. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing. But we smile and laugh because we both know we’ll get better. Which we do. With lots of practice._

_I tell you I love you for the first time too soon, just a little later, when you’re sick from the cold that winter. Then I tell you all the time, every chance I get, every day. Mostly you laugh and call me a fool. But you smile and touch me like you like that I am, and eventually you tell me that you love me too._

_We go on like that, making a life together in our little apartment in Brooklyn. The war comes, and we go and come home together. It’s harder after, both of us scarred and changed, but we find another little apartment in Brooklyn with good sunlight and we fill it with our laughter and with how much we love each other still. It’s good, our life._

_I still want that. I still wonder, what if I asked?_

* * *

**European Front - Winter 1943/1944**

Steve found him hiding in a supply tent surround by boxes of winter uniforms. Bucky had helped himself to a blue wool coat, because despite the relatively nice weather, he was freezing, like he was still strapped down to that cold metal table. Sometimes he thought he was; it made as much sense as Steve turning into a six-two, muscular, super soldier and rescuing him, but when he’d fallen out of reality while on the table, his dream-memories had had a surreal quality to them that the present lacked, and they’d been warmer.

Steve stopped and stood awkwardly just inside the threshold, silhouetted for a moment against the bright day outside, until the flap fell closed behind him. They hadn’t talked much on the trek back from the HYDRA facility and Bucky had been operating through it in something of a daze. Now he stared. The features of Steve’s face were oddly recognizable, even scaled up. His eyes were exactly the same, down to the piercing way they examined Bucky like they could see into his soul but for the first time he could remember, Bucky didn’t want to be seen by Steve. 

He tugged the coat more firmly around his shoulders and burrowed into it, realizing a moment too late it was the wrong move. Steve’s forehead creased with concern. 

“Are you cold? Did one of the doctors check—”

“Nah, I’m fine. Don’t need you worrying at me like a mother hen.” 

Bucky didn’t go for the straight lie. Steve had always been too good at picking up when Bucky lied outright, but omission was usually safe, and the last people he wanted anything to do with, besides more of HYRDA, were the army doctors. He’d had enough of needles and cold instruments for a lifetime.

Steve swallowed, still staring at Bucky, and that shy, awkward look was something special on him now that he resembled a marble statue come to life. 

“Jesus, Steve, come over and sit down. My neck hurts staring up at you like this.” 

Steve followed half the order. He strode further into the tent then bent and wrapped both arms around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky was too exhausted to stand up and properly return the hug, but he reached out automatically and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. It was not an easy reach anymore. Underneath his hands he could feel the hard shape of the muscles of Steve’s back and the perfect straightness of his spine. He jerked back form the shock of it. 

Steve let him go, but a look of hurt flashed across his face before he forced a smile. Steve tucked his huge hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, and Bucky got the sense that we was actually trying to make himself smaller for once, instead of the way he used to puff out his chest to seem bigger. Bucky’s head pounded. He wasn’t used to having to _think_ so much around Steve. Their interactions had always been automatic and effortless.

“I said sit.” Bucky said and shoved at Steve’s hip.

Finally Steve did, taking the same stack of crates Bucky was perched on so they were pressed together shoulder to knee, except now Bucky’s shoulder came in just under Steve’s and his thigh was barely half as thick. Of course, he’d been starving to death just this morning, so he figured it wasn’t the fairest comparison—a few more good meals and he’d get some of his own muscle back.

“Bucky, are you sure you’re alright? You look like hell.” 

“Well, I’m not saying I’m planning for a night on the town any time soon, but I’ll be fine. I’m back in the US Army, three square a day and a tent over my head. If I can requisition some socks without holes, it’ll be Christmas.” 

Steve looked worried still, his eyes narrowed and his smile unconvincing. Bucky could feel tension in every line of his body where their sides touched. If Steve dug his heels in and insisted Bucky go see a doctor, Bucky’d have no way out of it. 

“Got you something,” Bucky said and pulled out the flyer he’d tucked into his coat pocket. He’d found a stack of them while he was looking for his hiding place. It said _Captain America in Italy!_ in big, blocky letters and sported an awful caricature of Steve and two USO girls—clearly the US big wigs weren’t using any of Steve’s real talents. 

Steve unfolded it and laughed. It was an idiotic gift and they both knew it, but Steve’s laugh had been the point and they both knew that too. They relaxed, turning slightly into each other. 

Steve, in his new form, gave off heat like a radiator. Bucky considered tucking his hands underneath Steve’s shirt to warm them against his skin. In the past, Steve had done it to him all the time, making him jump from cold fingers poking his back or sides and then leaving them there to absorb the heat of Bucky’s body until they were warm enough for him to go back to sketching. But Steve was already worried about him, and Bucky wasn’t so sure yet how to move around this bigger, warmer Steve, so he kept his hands firmly in the pockets of his own coat and made do with scooting just a little closer to the warmth of Steve’s body.

They sat like that for a long time—familiar, companionable silence. Eventually though, Steve got called away, probably to get yelled at by Phillips again. Bucky got up when Steve did, wondering aimlessly through the camp and trying to readjust.

When he walked into the tent he’d been assigned with a few other survivors, Bucky was surprised to find Lieutenant Bell perched on the edge of his cot chatting with Dum Dum Dugan. Bucky stumbled to a stop a few steps in, mouth slightly open. The Lieutenant stood, so Dugan stood, and there was a brief awkward silence.

“Sir?” Bucky said.

“Sergeant Barnes. Have a moment?” Bell said and walked passed Bucky out the open tent flap. Bucky glanced at Dugan, who was nonchalantly studying his gear, and followed Bell out.

Bell was apparently incredibly good at finding private places in the busy, impersonal system of the US Army, and took them to a tarp covered supply area filled with food boxes, mostly tinned beans and peas, and bags of raw potatoes and onions. Bell offered him a cigarette and Bucky took it automatically. 

The space between the stacks was tight, and they stood across from each other with barely a hand-span between them. Bucky was grateful for the weird combination of closeness and space. He still felt scrapped raw from whatever had happened on that table in the HYDRA facility, but at the same time, he was desperate for human interaction that didn’t include being tied down and poked with needles.

“I figured you were dead.” Bell said.

“So did I.” Bucky said. “Hollywood is.” 

He could see it on Bell’s face as he registered the news and accepted it, taking a long, deep drag of his own cigarette. 

“You alright?” Bell asked after a stretch of silence.

Bucky nodded, but the fingers holding his cigarette where shaking and once he noticed that he realized the rest of him was as well, tiny shivers that radiated up and down his body. Bell saw too and reached out a hand, then paused.

Bucky intended just to lean into the small space between him and Bell, but it turned into more of a lurching fall. Bell grunted and stumbled a little, then adjusted to better hold Bucky’s weight and wrapped steady arms around his back. Bucky dropped his head to Bell’s shoulder. It felt too intimate for what they were, but he figured being held prisoner and experimented on excused a lot of transgressions, and it helped to ground him.

“I suppose that’s a no. Unfortunately I can’t offer to take you away to a fancy hotel in Rome right now, but anything else you need?” Bell asked.

Bucky snorted. “They’re actually shipping us back to London. More debriefs. And so the brass can figure out what to do next with Captain America.” 

Steadier, Bucky straightened and pulled back a little but not yet enough to break away from Bell’s hands on his back. Bell’s gaze searched Bucky’s face. 

“So you’ll soon be enjoying the wondrous healing powers of a hot bath. Doubt even I can top that.”

“Nah, this is good too. I—” But he cut himself off, unwilling to say that he’d needed a hug, no matter how much that was the truth. 

He pressed a quick, hard kiss to Bell’s lips and finished stepping out of his embrace. 

“Another night, another time?” Bucky proposed, chasing a sense of normalcy.

Bell gave him a strange look but echoed, “another night, another time.” 

Bucky could still feel Bell’s gaze as he walked away. 

Once again, Dum Dum Dugan and Bucky’s other new bunkmate, Jim Morita, were not alone when Bucky returned to the tent. Bucky recognized the group around Dum Dum as other fellow HYDRA survivors, ones who had jumped in and helped Steve get the rest out. It was frustrating, because at this point all Bucky wanted to do was flop down on his cot and sleep until London. Plus they had all almost died and then had to walk out of Austria, so they should all want nothing more than to flop down on their cots and sleep. Instead they were excitedly and loudly singing Steve’s praises. 

“Join us, Sarge?” Morita asked, shifting over to offer Bucky a seat. 

“Nah, but don’t mind me.” 

Bucky waved them off and headed over to flop down on the furthest cot and close his eyes. As soon as he did, he found that he actually didn’t mind their happy chatter; it was soothing, after so long living with death and misery in the HYDRA facility. Sure, they were still in the middle of a war, but capture was a whole different kind of terrible. 

Bucky dreamed of the table that night and woke just barely catching the scream in his throat. He was shivering from head to toe and there was a knot of tension high in his chest that hurt every time he took a breath or swallowed. He pulled his jacket and boots back on and slipped out of the tent.

It was a clear night, free of clouds and the fire haze of artillery. The flickering of the stars was calming. Some hot summer nights, he and his sisters had slept on the roof of their flat, but New York never had stars like this. Bucky lay on his back on the cold ground and stared up at the bright sky, making up stories in his head for the constellations. In the morning, he’d have to remember to steal one of Steve’s notebooks, as his own had been lost behind enemy lines and he craved the familiarity of jotting down his thoughts and stories. 

By they time they reached London, Bucky was wound tighter than a spring, but he’d managed to stop randomly getting the shakes or jumping a foot anytime someone unexpectedly brushed his arm. He still couldn’t sleep through most nights, but he was learning to live with the that, not feeling the physical exhaustion as he figured he probably should, though his mind felt like a stone being skipped across a pond, some moments vivid and too sharp, others missed entirely. 

So he didn’t quite know how he’d ended up at the bar, but it had a loud, boisterous atmosphere that was refreshingly home-like. Steve showed up after his briefing with Phillips and the SSR, and Bucky listened to him talk to the others about their proposed mission. It took about two minuets for them all to agree and Steve joined Bucky at the bar.

“See? I told you. They’re all idiots.” Bucky said to stave off anything Steve was going to open with. 

“How about you? Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” Steve asked with an intense look.

Bucky would have preferred slightly different phrasing but nothing would change his answer, so he told Steve yes, that he’d followed Steve anywhere, and he made an appreciative crack about Captain America’s tights that made Steve smile. 

When Carter walked in looking stunning, Bucky trailed Steve over to her. Flirting with her was automatic, even if he didn’t have the energy or the focus to follow-up on anything. Perhaps it was good, then, that she flatly ignored him, though it was an odd experience. The expression on Steve’s face was one Bucky had never seen before and reality clicked into place in his head with an uncomfortable combination of jealousy and genuine happiness for Steve. 

Steve and Carter exchanged some inside banter about dancing partners, which stung, more jealousy than genuine happiness, and Bucky retreated to the bar for another drink unnoticed by either of them.

“Joining us, Sarge?” Dum Dum asked when Bucky sat down with the new team.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Bucky said, raising his drink and prompting boisterous cheers around the table. 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Steve and Carter still talking and standing in each others’ space but looking awkward about it. 

“Must be strange?” Morita said quietly, following Bucky’s gaze. It took Bucky a moment to figure out he probably meant Steve being Captain America, not Steve and Carter awkwardly flirting. Bucky snorted.

“Not as much as you might think.” Bucky said. “Forget whatever Erskine’s serum did physically, it didn’t really change Steve one bit. You fellas don’t have a clue what you’re getting into.” 

Morita’s face took on a serious expression, despite the empty glasses cluttering the table, and he looked back and forth between Steve and Bucky. 

“Hmm,” he said, tone considering. “Should be interesting then.” He turned back to the others with a wide smile and a big swallow of his beer. Bucky decided they’d get on fine. 

When he woke up that night, instinct drew him to Steve, who'd been given a rather nice room of his own. He was already awake, though sleep tousled, as Bucky came in and sat next to him.

“You should be sleeping or—”

“Don’t,” Bucky interrupted. 

They still hadn’t talked much, and really, Bucky had been avoiding Steve. When they did talk, Bucky forced casual and Steve shot him concerned, frustrated glances. 

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it, Bucky.” He said quietly. “You gotta—I didn’t come after you so you could—you gotta _talk_ to me.”

It was fair, Bucky acknowledged to himself, but still replied with a comment he knew would get under Steve’s skin. 

“We talked today in the bar.”

Steve elbowed him in the side, which had considerable more force behind it than it used to and Bucky grunted. Steve looked instantly apologetic, but that didn’t distract from his line of discussion. 

“You said a dozen words, half of them trying to steer me away from anything important. You’ve been avoiding me. I know this…it’s me, Bucky. I’m still me.” Steve sounded hurt and Bucky felt a sharp stab of guilt for that, for letting Steve believe there was something wrong on his end.

“I know it’s still you. Only you would be dumb and stubborn enough to pull off that rescue in the first place and then make plans for taking out the rest of HYDRA.”

Steve sighed, like he was still hurt but hadn’t expected any better from Bucky and that was worse. Bucky swallowed. 

“I knew it was you as soon as you said my name back…back in Austria. And Steve, you gotta know I was half out of my mind back there. I’m not sure I knew who _I_ was, but I knew it was you.”

“You were saying your rank and serial number, over and over. When I heard about the 107th, I had to try to find you. I had to, because I couldn’t really believe you were dead. But when I saw you in that room, if you hadn’t been talking…” He trailed off, his voice thick. 

“I don’t remember that.” 

“Bucky, whatever happened in Zola’s lab, and before that, I know it was a lot. I’m trying to—”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t…I’m not…not tonight…I’m not...” The words clumped and stuck in his throat like curdled milk. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say, except to get Steve to stop prodding, because he was generally terrible at telling Steve no, but he didn’t feel ready to put words to what had happened on that table either. He was shaking again and he swiped angrily across his eyes at the sting of tears.

“Okay, okay.” 

Steve wrapped an arm around his back, warm and solid. Bucky leaned into it, still shaking. He dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder and the smell of him was comfortably familiar underneath the beer and army issued soap.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered into his ear. “Just tell me how to help.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need help, Stevie.”

Steve huffed out an exasperated breath that tickled Bucky’s nose. “Don’t call me Stevie.”

“You know I just do it to wind you up?”

“I know…Bucky?”

Bucky half expected Steve to say something like, if he was this much of a mess, he shouldn’t join the team and Bucky tried to brace for it. He didn’t know how to tell Steve that, despite being a wreck, he needed to help take down HYDRA and even more importantly, to stick by Steve’s side. 

“Steve?” Bucky prompted after the silence stretched long enough to make him anxious.

“I was just thinking about the last night before you shipped out.” Steve said. Bucky suspected by his tone it was just a half truth, but he didn’t have the energy to press. “I’d already enlisted into Erskine’s program, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

"You said you were going to follow me. Can’t argue you didn’t hold up your end.” 

Steve chuckled, quiet enough Bucky felt it vibrate through Steve’s chest as much as he heard it. “You promised to stay alive until I did. So you held up your end as well.” 

It was surprisingly comforting, like they had actually been in this thing together from the beginning. Bucky closed his eyes and eventually drifted into sleep still leaning on Steve’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming to post Chapter 4 next week, but it's been giving me trouble and work's busy this week, do might be later.


End file.
